Happy Ending
by HarvestMoonRacoon
Summary: Between the world we see and the things we fear, there are gates. When they are opened, nightmares become reality. [Oneshot, Leecentric, No Pairings] Rated for death, angst, and gore.


Author's Note: Oh, gods, there's hardly any time to explain before I zonk out, but, yes- I am still alive, and slowly getting over the traumatic events of the past few weeks, my dear readers. So, raise the flags; Call off the dogs, and scream for joy. HMR-Chan is back to doing what she loves the most. Things are going to be hard, but I think I'm back enough to continue gracing you all with the angst you so love. And, hopefully, the newest set of "30 Ways" will soon follow this fic. Just, please- I'm almost over a complete nervous breakdown, and still feeling pretty fragile, so take it easy on the flames. If this fanfiction sucks, it sucks. I was way off emotionally for a long time- But, please- Don't be brutal. I'm not sure if, now, I can take it. I've never asked this of anyone before. But, for a while- Please. Be gracious. Flame elsewhere, until my self-confidence crawls out of the garbage disposal. I apologize for neglecting everybody, if you all can ever forgive me. I'll have my profile fixed up soon, hopefully, and life will get a little easier to bear very soon. I dare hope.

Thanks to everyone who hung around, and all of those encouraging messages I was sent. You all have helped me improve immeasurably; You forever have my gratitude. And so, I dedicate this angst to all of my wonderful friends here on May this angst quench that need for bloody, macabre horror you all so desperately need. -snort- Oh, yeah. I'm back.

**So... A little angst of my favorite _Naruto_ bishi to kick me back onto the angst circut. Enjoy, everyone! **

It's a banshee scream of foreign energy, foretold by a prophesizing, narrow blade of icy wind, like the gust that dares tippet across a night-cloaked cemetery.

There's an instant barrage of thousands of different synapses firing, all culminating into a fiery, shapeless personification of determination, iron will that brings you to a level of personal, physical detachment that mocks death with every instant you remain grounded in the desire to let it consume you.

There's a specter dance of chakra, a flash of energy you can't use without a blindfolded run down the path to death, and it begins: cascading up to shroud the body you're clenching against the utter fright coursing through your veins. Your stomach is flipping harder and faster than you've had to avoid their shruiken, and the acid in your throat is trying to find a new way to make you get sick; Your arms and legs are still throbbing, there's still a shruiken imbedded in your side, and it's still, still the same battle that your cell faced with such zeal. It's terrifying. Good thing your hands are balled in a shield across your face, or every other person who's never worked as hard as you might see the tears fleeing from the corners of your eyes.

There's a sense of losing track of time, but in reality, not even a few seconds has passed. Your Anbu convoy is still splattered across the forest behind you, the glare of sun through the leaf canopy above still lets you know that it's another beautiful, bloody day as a Shinobi, and the enemy ninja are still pouring out of the shadows like liquid death. And you still know that it's Time.

It doesn't mercifully build up, like it seemed to back in the days when even Sand demons used to flinch at the sight of your genius skill; Now, you need more power, more strength, more determination to pull out of a hat than you ever needed as a Genin. Now, the technique sandblasted into your brain comes like the wake of tsunami. It simply crashes over you, the weight of strength turning your back into splinters and your knees into jelly that still miraculously supports you.

Of course, you never whimper, or simply collapse, here; You've spent years numbing yourself to that oh-so-susceptible human sensation known as Pain. You just tell yourself, through what you can still comprehend as the inhuman pressure sends your Jounin vest flying off like a projectile weapon, that you don't feel a thing. You're a protector, you're a fortress, you're a Youthful example of hard work making dreams come true.

Except, after today, those dreams will never come true. It's all just a matter of moments, really.

The ground begins to loosen, levitating in huge chunks, before being hurled higher than you wished you could ever fly in your daydreams. The blue vacuum builds, until there's a shimmering curtain shielding you from the slanted eyes of your opponents. They're not sure whether to throw weapons at this force field that has engulfed the strange Konoha-nin, or to just wait for his technique to play out, to see what exactly it is; Was his taijutsu a front to this example of clear ninjutsu? Is it even ninjutsu? Is he casting a genjutsu on them all? Will another second be too late to keep our squad from being wiped out?

Even though you're struggling just to keep from losing consciousness in preparation for the staggering amount of horrific strain you're about to put on yourself and the pull is deforming your lips into a ferocious sneer, you have the presence of mind to smile; I'm not going to just defeat you. I'm going to obliterate you. I'm making you wonder what I've got- Making you wish that you were not on the outside, looking in.

It's not ninjutsu.

The timer inside of you pings, reverberating through your gut, and it's show time. From there, it's quite literally impossible to catalog exactly what happens, because you're moving too fast to be seen, and your brain is unable to keep up with your blinding speed, as well as the rest of your organs. You're on autopilot, and loosing the controls to the monster within you.

A punch in the chest that snaps his collarbone, and send him into the branches of a weeping willow tree; You scream. A kick in the groin, Lotus style, that crests him up, up, up, into the branches, and you can't watch him any more, because you're faster than the speed of sound, and he isn't. He isn't. You're faster, stronger, smarter, and that just makes you even determined for the slightest moment, even though you can't imagine where you dredged up more will to fight than what you're employing, right now. You've been running on nothing but determinations and brainwashing for longer than you can remember; Why now, I wonder, the sudden burst of fuel to your fire?

Like a knife through flesh, you simply race up and down the lines of the legion, cutting them into skyward arcs, the sheer force of your speed making an out held hand the equitant of a katana. You fly through the trees, ricocheting off of branches that break when your feet touch them, sending hurricanes of leaves falling from the canopy that once concealed you from the sunlight above. The forest floor, if you had the time to look, is the facsimile of a three year-old's art project, generously heaped with the bodies of those who stood in your way not even seconds before, the trees gashed with angry blood and burns from where your feet tacked the earth. In a way, it's beautiful. Maybe when you're gone, your remaining teammates will appreciate the macabre scene you're leaving them.

Or, maybe like everyone who never appreciated all of the hours you spent breaking your arms on the training field, they won't.

You can feel your fist slamming past the bone of his forehead, and into the spongy sense of give that seeks to swallow your wrist: Brain. You've punched straight into his brain. For a second, you marvel at the way the blood stretches in slow motion to spatter you in it's burning grasp, before you zoom away, and into the blinding oblivion that you're worked your youth to achieve.

You wonder if, perhaps, he would be proud of you. You have to tell yourself he's watching from heaven, if Shinobi can be forgiven of countless acts of murder and go to an ethereal haven (You told yourself if anybody deserved a Heaven, it was Gai-sensei). But, you've had to grow up fast, and childish Comfort Thoughts like 'heaven' are things you've thrown to the side of the Road of Life, along with Security and Peace Of Mind. For the piles of bodies he amassed in his lifetime, he's most likely watching you from Hell, if anywhere. Or, trapped in eternal spiritual limbo, his ghost is in those trees bleeding in your vision. (The afterlife is such a void to you, you just have to accept that it will always be an unknown. That's hard to swallow.)

You know if he could see you now, his hands would shaking fists at his sides. His head would be bowed, black eyes narrowed in reverence. His legwarmer wrapped knees would be trembling, but the blossom of pride in his heart would enough to spur yours into one of those old leaps of joy that used to make your childhood all worth it. Judgment loomed in every eye; Lofty glances from lofty people couldn't see past your scarlet letters. You felt like a ghost among the living, unseen, unheard- Cold, lonely, searching for somebody to love. But, Gai-Sensei told you to prove them wrong. He told you to make them see what he saw in you. He told you to make him proud. And you're about to.

If Gai-Sensei were here, his presence would slip you the strength you need to scream the end of your life. His gaze would ease this unearthly pressure, sliding you into the last act with the ease of an experienced player of this Game of Life. His love would be enough to open your eyes, and let you.. Drift.. Off.. To be with him, finally.

If the most precious person to you were here, he would say:

A true man follows his Nindo to the death. And there has never been a truer man than you, this day.

But, you know in death, he's here: Or, you have to tell yourself that so you can get over this last hirdle with your sanity intact.

"**_SHIMON! GATE OF DEATH!!"_**

It's kind of sad, but your mind dies before your body does. Your last thoughts, before your brain explodes within the confines of your skull, are how you're going to cross that permanently-unknown divide between life and death. The normal Shinobi might picture his child. His girlfriend. His grieving village. His name in scratches to the memorial stone. But, I've never been normal in any way, shape, or form.

My last thoughts are on the imminent approach of the netherworld, and the knowledge that as my body is blown to little more than shredded strips of flesh across the bodies of my enemies, I am going to wherever the person I have always loved the most now is.

God forgive me, but if I open my eyes and see the splendor of heaven around me, I will cry with joy. But if I look down and see my sensei at the gates of Hell, I will throw myself from the sky, and fall. Because, I know he'll catch me. And if I find myself roaming the Earth as an unseen entity, I will wander the planet until I can see Him. Just like I know he's here, watching me become the powerful personification of hard work I've always wanted to be, I know he's waiting for me. If we can't be together in this unstable life, we'll be together in the next one.

Just like he was the only thing that kept me going in this world, he's the thing that keeps me going right into the next one.

And without further ado, there is no grand flash of light. There is no tunnel to gates of white. There is the tearing of your brain from your body, and the blackness you've known in your soul for- forever, ever since you watched them lower his body into a hole in the ground.

This is how a Shinobi dies, a life ends, and a little boy hungry for his mentor's pride becomes a man.

A/N: Give me time, give me time... And P!ATD! WOO! Life is good.


End file.
